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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056345">Mocha Patch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elflordsmistress/pseuds/elflordsmistress'>elflordsmistress</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The West Wing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Humor, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:40:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elflordsmistress/pseuds/elflordsmistress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The things you find in the laundry basket can lead you astray ..</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mocha Patch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As he hauls the basket off the ground, he wonders briefly if it's too late to be doing laundry - on account of the neighbours.</p><p>But there's nothing much to do except drink at this time of the night, and he isn't lonely enough for that.</p><p>It's more that he's at a loose end.</p><p>He’s turned down drinks with Mark O’Donnell and Arthur Leeds, decided not to return a call from his publisher, doesn’t feel like writing anything, there's nothing worth watching on TV and - judging by the time - CJ won’t be coming by tonight.</p><p>As he rummages through the basket, his fingers snag on something soft. Something which can't possibly be his, he thinks, as he pulls it free of the tangled soiled bed sheets.</p><p>Turns out he's right.</p><p>The lacy underwear he's affectionately dubbed <em>mocha patch</em> comes into view - sparking a memory of the night he'd ripped them off her.</p><p>And with it the realization that he owes her a new pair of panties because, as he holds them up to the light, it's abundantly clear that the crotch is beyond repair.</p><p>He rubs the material between his thumb and forefinger, trying to remember what she looked like that night, and his mind begins to wander to the minutiae.</p><p>The toe nails that nobody at work ever gets to see, painted ox blood red; the shapely legs which seem to go on forever when she's half naked; the firm thighs; the almost-flat planes of her stomach; the firm, peaked nipples; the arms, more than strong enough to hold him at bay or hold him close; the inviting neck; the sinful mouth.</p><p>
  <em>She'd looked like a wanton goddess.</em>
</p><p>He smiles again as he feels the feels the first tightening of his scrotum, but as he bends down to toss the panties into the machine, he can smell her in the air. Sweet musk turned somewhat stale - which hardens him indefinably.</p><p>Making him abandon the idea of doing laundry and reach down past his waistband instead.</p><p>One hand strokes up and down; clenching the base and stretching up towards the tip.</p><p>The other one fingers the material.</p><p>Drowning in his own desires, he brings it up to his face; inhaling scent which has lingered.</p><p>Strong, erotic, with a personality all its own.</p><p>With each breath in and out, the fabric flutters against his nose and lips - and his hand clenches tighter still.</p><p>He can hear her bedroom voice with hardly any effort at all - because he already knows exactly what she wants by the sounds she makes.</p><p>She's a woman of many moods. Of more facets than he ever remembers having in a lover. And the tone of her voice is often the key to those moods. When she wants control, her voice is direct. When she wants to be courted into sex, it has the quality of a question. When he touches her legs or her breasts, she sighs. Deeply. When he moves inside her she makes short sharp anxious sounds which morph into keen guttural moans when he hits the right spot.</p><p>An array of words which gain rapid momentum before blending together.</p><p>For the most part they are monosyllabic and unintelligible – but he understands anyway.</p><p>
  <em>And right before she comes …</em>
</p><p>He strokes harder still at the thought of what she sounds like <i>then<i>.</i></i></p><p>
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</p><p>Aware that his body is begging for something more satisfying than his right hand.</p><p>But he's unwilling to stop.</p><p>He can feel the pulsation beneath his fingers, feel his balls starting to tighten with conviction. So he runs his fingers around the head. Becoming conscious of his own sounds as he does so. Of his quickening breath reverberating in the tiny room.</p><p>Immersed in the sensation of throbbing ridges and soft material, his body remembers the feel of her skin.</p><p>He can't decide if she's silk or satin. She may well be both.</p><p>Smooth. Alternating between cool and warm.</p><p>She feels warm against his own skin as she slides above him in his mind's eye, but her breasts are cool as they press against his chest. Her tongue is pressing roughly against his, and her hands pull his head closer to her own as she kisses him long and deep. She teases him. Grinding against his crotch; her tongue slipping out of his mouth to slide around his ear and down his neck. He can feel her teeth gently biting his earlobe, and realizes he is moaning.</p><p>Loudly.</p><p>Almost unable to hold back as he relives their last time together.</p><p>She lifts up just enough for him to enter her, and he savours her throb as he does so. Savours her wetness, savours all of her.</p><p>His mind feels as though it's on fire as he remembers the ways her thighs clamped; the way she tightened around him as she came.</p><p>He strokes and stops.</p><p>Again and again.</p><p>Trying to delay the inevitable.</p><p>Wanting to remember the way she tastes as he finds release.</p><p>He thinks of his tongue tracing her spine and the small of her back. He thinks of the slightly salty tang to the nipples which harden in his mouth. He thinks of sliding his tongue between her labia .. and he strokes harder and faster.</p><p>Struggling to distinguish what is real from what is not.</p><p>Until he hears the front door opening.</p><p>He knows he has seconds until CJ’s security detail sweeps this room, and feels ridiculously grateful that even though he can’t bend over and look busy, he can at least keep his back to the door. Well, <i>that<i> and his pants aren't pooled around his ankles.</i></i></p><p>
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</p><p>“<em>Good evening, Sir</em>,” comes the familiar voice.</p><p>Danny doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just raises his left hand awkwardly.</p><p>The seconds tick by like eternity, and he knows a serious blush is spreading to his neck.</p><p>The front door clicks shut down the hall, and he can sense her standing in the doorway.</p><p>“Danny?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“This room smells of sex.” </p><p>“I can see why you would think that.”</p><p>She’s standing right behind him now, and he knows from the way she’s breathing that she’s aroused. </p><p>“<em>You started without me?</em>”</p><p>"Thought you weren't coming tonight.”</p><p>She murmurs something he doesn't quite catch, and then drops the smallest of kisses onto the nape of his neck and follows it up with a lick.</p><p>It takes everything he’s got not to get his hand going again - and she’s quick to notice.</p><p>“Here’s what we’re going to do ..”</p><p>Oh he definitely knows <i>that<i> tone - and from the swishing sound behind him he knows that her coat has just hit the floor. He’s half expecting her hand to close over his, but instead she leans her left side against the dryer.</i></i></p><p>
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</p><p>So he angles his head to look at her.</p><p>“You can look .. but you can’t touch,” she purrs as she starts to unbutton her shirt.</p><p>Danny sucks in a breath as her face comes closer, and he moans against the feel of her tongue licking his lips.</p><p>“Captive audience, huh?” he murmurs as he finds his voice and starts to find his rhythm again.</p><p>“Go to town, fishboy. I’m going to stand here and watch.”</p><p>He doesn’t argue - but he does start counting in his head.</p><p>Wondering how long she will hold out.</p><p>He gets all the way to four Mississippi.</p>
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